mom saw how bruised my legs were and dad looked over and asked if it was a covert form of sh
i was building a shelf. think they would’ve rather heard i was praying or something
Sorry man, I can't make it. I have to return this fleeting form to the vast and loving song from which it was woven. The last whispers of my spirit will linger on the wind, though, if you want to try for something next week.